Not One Magician BornMatthew Cote
5000 words Caius ran a gnarled, aching finger along the puckered scar on the boy's swollen belly. The scar was not a burn, so its genesis was irrelevant. Caius could end the ritual. His back screamed for him to stand, and stretch, and relieve the pain. He would have done so if he were alone. But he was not alone. The boy's mother knelt at his feet. A dozen supplicants stared from the hovel's shadows. His Holy Sword and Protector, Seeker Lira, loomed over all. They awaited his judgment and it was better to avoid Lira's hard questions in front of the masses. Caius turned the child over like a chicken on a spit, inspected the exposed skin again, then set the boy on his knee. "How was the child scarred, goodwoman?" The mother leaned closer, wreathed in the stench of untreated furs. Caius wrinkled his nose, fighting the urge to turn away. She could do with a warm bath, but the thaw hadn't taken hold in the valleys yet, and the ponds and rivers wouldn't be warm enough to bathe for months. He forced himself to take small breaths, and those through his mouth. "A fall last year," she said. "Cut himself on a fence post. That's nothing to be worried about, is it?" Caius rubbed at the scar, then leaned away from the woman. None of this pageantry was anything she need worry about—but he caught Lira's hungry eye across the dim room. The Seeker was well worth a worry. "The child is marked. We shall proceed, Seeker Lira." "Yes, Most Devout." Lira stepped forward, hardened leathers creaking, her fire-forged steel sword clacking against her hip. She produced a cylinder of wax from her robe and handed it to Caius. The villagers were right to fear the Seekers. These simple folk knew the way of stone and fur. They knew nothing of fire, let alone steel and leather. The ignorant knew nothing of that which he now held. He smiled and held the sacred relic aloft. Rivulets of hardened white wax cascaded down the cylinder's sides. Braided string, darkened with soot at the ends, protruded from the top. "This is called a candle. I will use it to perform the second test." "What if my boy is the one you seek?" asked the mother. Caius had sought the Embodiment of the Second Conflagration long enough to doubt there was any truth to the old prophecies. Even if there was, this child was not it—but Lira's knuckles whitened around her sword's hilt; her hungry, wolfish eyes watched the boy. "If he is the Second Conflagration, he will not be fazed by the test.” “And what then?” "Then we will pray together," he said, "and rejoice that the long search is over." And I will try to stop the zealot from murdering him in front of you. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth in the room. Were he still young and virile, he would draw on his own warmth to conjure flame. But he was not, so he pulled in that of others as if drawing breath. The chill fled from his bones, his muscles loosened, aches and pains accumulated over a long, hard life eased. Sweat beaded at his temple. He focused upon the candle. Fire sparked. Hungry flame tasted the wick, caught, and fed. The crowd gasped, drawing back against the walls. Breath misted in the chill air, crystallizing for a moment on their lips, until Caius restored the warmth he stole from them. The boy squirmed in his lap, shrinking away and mewling. The mother hissed, eyes wide and trembling and focused on the candle. "Fire is forbidden!" "Do not fear," said Caius, fighting the wriggling child. "This is the test. All will be well. He fears the flame already, you see?" She nodded. "We're good, goddess-fearing people here." No doubt they were. The boy’s sallow look and stunted growth stood testament to the village’s piety. The village had not a hint of woodsmoke, or steel, or leather, or any such luxury made possible with fire. They made due with stone and flint and fur. It was not their fault the church denied them the goddess’ gift. Caius would share it with these peasants given the chance, if only for one night, but that was impossible under Lira’s watchful eye. Even he hadn't eaten anything but raw vegetables, and raw meat, and raw eggs for the two seasons he and Lira traveled together. It was a miracle they hadn’t come down with the flux. He would blaspheme in the Glowing City itself for a bit of seared meat, die for a steaming cup of tea. Instead, he smiled and drew the lit candle nearer the boy. The flame flickered and danced, reflected in the child's wide eyes. He squirmed, screamed, and kicked the candle out of Caius's hands. With a curse, Caius shoved the child into his mother's waiting arms, stood, and stomped the flame out before it caught on the dried rushes spread along the floor. He wiped sweat from his brow and sighed. "He is not the one we seek." The woman exhaled and gathered the boy in her arms. Tears ran streaks through the dirt on her face. "Thank you, Most Devout. Thank you!" "Do not thank me, goodwoman. Thank the goddess in your prayers tonight. Go with Terra's blessing." He looked at Lira. "Next?" Lira shook her head. "That was the last of them, Most Devout." "Excellent!" Caius clapped his hands and turned to the gathered supplicants. "We will require provisions and feed for our mounts, and then we will be on our way. May the blessings of Terra go with you all, and beware the temptations of Incendarius." He traced the holy symbols in the air, then ducked beneath the lintel and into the drizzle and gray mist of the late afternoon. The air tasted of snow. They might wait out the storm here in the village, if two dozen ramshackle hovels clustered along a muddy track amounted to a village. Goats and chickens grazed heedless along the verge, foraging even into the vegetable gardens where men and women bent to their work. The stinking place reminded Caius of his own home. The desire to leave was as strong now as it had been at thirteen years old, and Meri’s inn was only a handful of miles up Fowler’s Pass. He’d stake his chances on the road if it meant Meri’s welcome. "Should we search the houses, Most Devout?" asked Lira, leaning close as they approached their sinronid mounts. The blind, flightless birds towered over the surrounding homes. Caius's mount lolled its heavy head towards him as they approached, oblivious to the peasants dropping bladders of goat’s milk and sacks of turnips, onions, eggs, and seed at their feet. Caius ran his fingers through the bird's heavy down. "To what purpose, Lira?" "To see if they're hiding any more children away." Caius sighed. "What do you smell?" She paused, puzzled, then scented the air. "I smell moss and dirt." "And?" "And shit." "Ah! No woodsmoke. No ash. No char. Their tools are nothing but sticks and stones. I've served the inquisition for seven and twenty years. I've visited this village half a dozen times. I likely inspected the parents of today's children when they were young. And in all those years, all those children, not one magician born. Not one. And I count that as a blessing." "A blessing? We are Seekers! It is our duty to find the Second Conflagration." The villagers had moved off, leaving them alone. Caius lowered his voice to a whisper. "And if we did? Would you be so quick to slay a child in front of their parents?" Lira hesitated and glanced up and away before snapping her gaze back to him. Stepping forward, fists clenched tight, she spat. "Gladly! The High Priest entrusted us with that duty." "The High Priest interprets his orders from stone tablets," Caius said. "Old Balsera had us all out looking for a child in order to save them. She even made us swear to her while she lay dying of the twisting fever." "You blaspheme, Most Devout." For a moment, Caius feared he pushed her too far. One needed a delicate hand to navigate Lira's faith. He sighed, then mounted his great, stinking bird. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Lira. I will do my duty, but there are subtler ways to handle this should the unveiling come to pass. Let's be off before the snow catches us in the highlands. There's shelter at Fowler's Pass, and old Meri can do wonders with a carrot and some oats." And rabbit, and pheasant—though Meri wouldn't dare light a fire with Lira dogging him. "We should arrive not long after nightfall if we ride hard." 
Lira was not the first Protector assigned to guard Caius on his journeys. She would not be the last, though she was certainly the youngest, having only just passed her trials and sworn her holy vows. They spoke rarely that first tenday out of Kalifir, the Glowing City, until they passed beneath the blue crystal cliffs marking the border of the holy land. "Do you think we will find it?" she asked that midsummer day. "No." "I think we will. The goddess showed me in a dream." "If the scriptures are true, the Conflagration will be a child." "In shape only, Most Devout. One thrust of my sword will shatter that illusion, and we will rid the world of a great evil." She was as haughty and righteous as those that came before her, claiming to have never known flame yet donned in hardened leather and bearing holy steel. Caius would show this one the folly of her beliefs. He had tried, and failed, to do so with the others; zealots weren't known for changing their minds. But Lira was young, her mind ripe. This time would be different. 
Fowler's Pass was further than Caius remembered, and their pace suffered with the onset of night. The sinronids labored ever upward. Midnight drew near before they reached the pass, and the snow caught them. Wind whipped shrieking through the notch, throwing the tails of their cloaks behind them, and snow into their faces. Caius pulled his hood low and bent close to the bird's long neck. "Not far now," he shouted into the wind, though if Lira heard him, she gave no indication. They came to Meri's place a short time later, but the bustling inn of Caius's memory was nothing more than a crumbling ruin. The roof sagged under the weight of snow and ice, but the walls still stood. Caius sighed. He had hoped he might convince Meri to sneak him some tea once Lira slept. "Where to now, Most Devout?" Lira shouted. "I don't remember any better options further down the pass. This place might still offer some shelter for the night." "We will need water." Caius pointed into the dark. "There is a stream that way, if I recall." Lira nodded and set off with the waterskins while Caius entered the ruin. It was drier within the structure than he expected, and the ruined walls offered protection from the wind. The birds would not fit within the building, but they were bred for their hardiness. He tended to them as best he could and was just rolling his blankets out into a corner when a shriek and a splash pierced the night from the direction Lira had gone. He set off with a curse, but had not gone half a dozen strides before she loomed, sodden and dripping, from the darkness. Purple shadow tinged her lips, and her hands trembled. "What happened?" he asked. "I slipped on the ice." "Dry yourself. Quickly." She stripped, then draped her wet clothes over broken timbers and pulled her furs around her shoulders. Then she dropped to her haunches and rifled through their provisions before withdrawing two shriveled onions. "We should finish the old before we start the new." Lira held one of the bulbs out to him. Her teeth clattered together with each word, her breath a thin mist. He paused, considering her offering. How long had he spent eating raw onions, and raw carrots, and raw turnips? Onion suited him better roasted slow, with a bit of mutton to go with it. But he said nothing, and took the onion, bit it through the skin, and chewed. Bitter vapors stung his eyes. They ate without speaking. Caius studied his companion. Lira coughed from time to time, and with each passing moment, her hands seemed to tremble a bit more while her shivering grew more pronounced. When she fumbled the onion and was unable to pick it back up off the ground, his suspicions were assured. "You're freezing," he said. "I will be fine, Most Devout." Lira's teeth chattered loud enough for Caius to hear and she pulled the furs closer around her shoulders. "I've seen people freeze on warm days in the bloom of spring because they tarried too long in a mountain stream. This shelter won't protect you from the cold. Let me conjure a fire." She stared at him, mouth wide, bits of half-chewed onion cascading down her chest. "Fire is forbidden." "Yes, but the cold is in your bones. Your inner fire is extinguished. Furs alone won't save you now. Are the tenets worth your life?" She watched him, onion forgotten on the ground. "Another of your tests, Most Devout? Of course, the tenets are worth my life." "Lira, be sensible. You use steel when it suits your purpose. How is that tempered, if not in flame? Your faith is the goddess' sword. Let me conjure a fire to temper you." "No," she snapped. "No flames. Unless you know another way, my fate will be as the goddess wills." Caius sighed a cloud of mist, and rose. He removed his furs and tunic, and kicked off his tangled breeches until he stood as naked as she was beneath the furs. "What are you doing?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "Trying another way." He pulled her against him and wrapped all their furs around them. He held her close, for an hour or more, but her shivering only grew worse. Even as she worsened, her protestations became more frequent. "This is not necessary, Most Devout." "I am warm enough." "Leave me be." But he held her until the storm ended and the sky cleared. Crimson moonlight filtered down through holes in the roof. Lira's lips were still a dark purple, though her shivering was infrequent now. She slept. Caius crept naked from beneath the furs. He gathered some wood and piled it near their bedrolls. With no crowd of disciples, and Lira near frozen, he must draw the fire from within himself, and that was a dangerous prospect here. Draw too little and the exercise would be a wasted effort. Draw too much and he would freeze alongside her. He closed his eyes and focused. Flames sparked as the chill entered his fingers and toes and spread through his veins. Spittle froze on his lips—but the spark caught the wood, flame crackled, and soon a small fire burned. The warmth of it washed over him. He welcomed it. Never one to waste, Caius withdrew another onion from the saddlebags and placed it onto a steaming rock. "Fire is forbidden." Lira's wavering voice arose from beneath the mound of furs. "It was not always so. In my youth, we viewed fire as a sacred tool. We guarded the secrets, to be sure, but its use was not forbidden. It was no sin to warm your home in the winter. Even you wear tanned leather. You carry steel. How many blades have we forged in sacred flames? How many believers came into the church for just a taste of pigeon, charred upon a stick? Have you ever tasted meat, Lira?" "I have—raw and bloody, as the goddess intended." He sighed. Her head was thicker than stone. "The old teachings said differently. Who are we to keep this gift from the world?" "The goddess says fire is forbidden." "The new High Priest says that." "The goddess speaks through him." "In her time, High Priestess Balsera said fire was a gift. Did the goddess not speak through her as well?" Lira watched in silence. Caius sighed. "And what of the tests?" "That is different. It is written in the scriptures. How else will we save the world from the Second Conflagration?" She was weak still, but she looked better. A bit of color had returned to her cheeks. He thought he had done enough to save her life, if not her soul. "Fine," said Caius, and tossed snow on the fire until it hissed out. 
They didn't speak of scripture the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. They barely spoke at all, unless need demanded it. Winter melted away and spring blossomed all around. One evening, as they made camp upon the steppe and settled down to a dinner of raw radishes, Lira finally stirred. “Have you prepared my next test, Most Devout?” Caius quirked a brow and chewed his radish. “What tests are those?” “The tests of my devotion. In the village, you questioned my faith. In the mountains, you tempted me with fire in my weakest moment.” She stretched, sighing, and cracked her neck. “I’m ready.” “I wanted to save you.” Lira ignored him, undaunted. “In Kalifir, the Knight Commander warned us of your trickery, and that we should be wary were we picked to guard you. None of the others would serve you willingly—none save me. Your tests don’t frighten me, Most Devout. I won’t fail again.” Tossing aside the radish leaves, Caius dusted off his hands. “Not everything is a test, Lira.” “Isn’t it?” Caius wrapped himself in his blankets and turned away. Only later, when he was on the verge of sleep, did he consider that Lira’s remembered failures did not involve him. 
Autumn held the land enthralled in leaves of red, orange, and gold when they came to the hamlet of Whitestone Crossing. From the fields at the town's outskirts, farmers watched them bouncing astride the sinronids. A few hurried away at their coming, no doubt cutting through the forest to arrive at the village before they did. No matter. What would come would come. The burned ruin of a farmhouse lay a short distance from town. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, though Caius couldn't tell how long ago the structure had burned. They reined the great birds to a halt in the shadow of the ruin; the village's first thatch roof was just visible beyond the next rise. Lira sniffed the air. Her sinronid skittered away from the ash. "Be on your guard, Lira. Go and gather the children." She nodded and spurred forward. Caius waited a quarter hour before following. By the time he joined her in the village common, half a dozen children were gathered to await his inspection. The very young were unblemished; Caius dismissed them immediately to the relief of their families. He tested those with scars, dismissing each after they passed. The sun dipped towards evening, and then there was one child left. A susurration passed through the crowd as an old man carried a swaddled babe forward. He was far too old to be her father, but Caius paid him no mind. His attention settled on the child. Hair grew in dark patches on her scalp, and she had no eyebrows to speak of. Caius gulped, his hackles rising with a strange unease in his belly. He forced himself to a calm he didn't feel, and stretched his lips in a thin smile. "Who is this?" The old man's voice grated. "This is Mia, my nephew's daughter. You want me to disrobe her like these others?" "No." Sick rose in Caius's belly. The scent of charred cinders and ash wafted from the child; waves of heat rolled off her skin. A fire raged within this baby. "What happened?" "You saw the ruined farmhouse outside of town, eh? Happened two moons ago. Mia's the only one who survived the blaze. We found her in the rubble, unmarked except for her hair. There's a few who say it was an accident, but we're good, goddess-fearing folk around here. I'll be the first to say my nephew consorted with demons and no mistake." A child born of a magician, Caius thought, and swallowed. "How do you know this?" "I seen it. The strange lights. The smoke rising up from the woods by his house." The old man shrugged. "So, this is it then? The one you've been looking for? I always said there was something wrong with this girl." "Perhaps. There are other tests." "Hmmm." The old man narrowed his eyes. "But if this is it? Is there a reward?" "Quiet," said Lira, cuffing the man on the shoulder. "She is your kin." Caius held up a warning hand, and softened his tone. "If Mia is the chosen one, we will take her with us to keep her safe. You will be compensated. But first, I must complete the test." He swallowed and took Mia in one arm. He clung to the familiar ritual though he already knew the truth. As soon as he saw her, he knew. He knew as soon as he smelled her. All these years spent losing faith and mocking the righteous, and it was all true—and he found her. The insolent castoff. The blasphemer. He withdrew the candle, and conjured the flame. The crowd gasped as if on cue, but the child never so much as blinked. He brought the flame near and let it kiss the flesh of her feet, then moved it along her body. Mia did not utter a sound. "It will be all right," Lira whispered beside him. For a moment, he thought she was speaking to him, but her eyes were locked on Mia's. "No harm will come to you." He blew the candle out and laid the smoldering wick in the baby's hand. Nothing happened. A lifetime passed in a moment. Caius released his breath. His shoulders relaxed. Without warning—no creep of a chill touch or a flick of the child's eyes—a spark of flame erupted in Mia's hand, and the candle ignited. The crowd gasped, teetered, then broke running. Lira stepped forward, sword drawn now, reflecting the sun's fading light. She faced the fleeing crowd for a moment, then turned toward Caius. "What now?" "We run." Together, the pair sprang for the sinronids, carrying the Second Conflagration away from the village. 
After Lira admitted that the Knight Commander had warned her of him, Caius tread lightly with her. And she opened to him, though he never mentioned fire nor her supposed failures. Neither did she. On midsummer night, a year to the day since they began their journey together, they shared another cold camp beneath a starlit sky. She spoke softly to him, as if afraid she might be overheard. "If the goddess herself speaks through the High Priests, how is it they interpret things differently from one another?" Caius pushed his aching legs out straight and waited for the pain to ebb. He considered his words, and breathed deep, and spoke in a tone to match her own reverence. "I asked Balsera, once, what it was like to hear her voice. She told me to imagine an open plain in the dead of winter after a snowfall, and to multiply the silence sevenfold. That’s how quiet the goddess is. I asked her if she believed in her." "What did she say?" "Yes, but that it was beyond our ken to understand the gods." "Do you believe, Most Devout?" she asked, inching closer in the night. "I believe it is folly to follow those who claim they know all the answers." "You didn't answer my question." “Does it matter whether I believe? Some questions are better left unanswered, Lira.” He plucked a handful of dried grass and let the wind take it. Then he sighed. “But I will be honest with you. Long ago, I believed, but no more. I envy your faith.” “You still have the gift of fire.” He shrugged. “A gift once common, until the High Priests decided to withhold fire from the masses out of fear they might be discarded and forgotten.” Lira stirred. Her hand brushed her dagger. For a moment, Caius thought she would strike. Then she covered her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. “Lira?” He shifted closer and lay his arm around her shoulder. He didn’t speak again; she needed silence now. In time, the Seeker stopped crying. She drew away from him, rubbing her eyes clear. “I’m sorry, Caius. I’ve failed you. I’ve doubted my faith and broken my vow.” “What? How?” “I told you the goddess graced me before we left Kalifir. I dreamed we would find the Second Conflagration. I knew then that the goddess had work for you, and I knew I needed to keep you on the path.” “You didn’t fail, Lira. My faith is my own, as are my doubts. One must walk their own path. It isn’t for you to keep them true.” “Nor for you to make one stray.” Lira grinned. Her eyes, clear now of tears, sparkled crimson in the moonlight. She laid her hand on his arm. “We understand each other now. We will walk our paths, and find the Second Conflagration, and then we will both be redeemed.” 
They rode until the sun was a fleeting memory, through aspen and birch and finally pine. Silver moonlight filtered through the trees, lighting the way, but Caius trusted Lira to guide them. His thoughts were far away. He had not, in fact, wasted the whole of his life. It was a test. All of it. A test of his patience, of his will, of his faith. And now he--he—had found the Second Conflagration. He would save the world. The child bounced along in front of him on the sinronid, silent as if in understanding of their journey. It may have been his imagination, but Caius did not feel the cold with her clutched to his chest. He loosened his cloak and let the wind cool them. Lira drew the birds to a halt in a meadow. "We should rest." "Yes," he said, eying the holy blade strapped to her waist. He would need to deal with the swordswoman, and soon. Lira dismounted, then lifted Mia down, leaving Caius to his own devices. He climbed off the bird, back aching, and watched as Lira sat upon a mossy boulder. She whispered, tickled the child under the chin, and gazed into Mia's eyes. He felt around blind within his saddlebags, searching for the ceremonial dagger he seldom remembered he possessed. His grasping fingers closed around the handle, and he half pulled it from its sheathe when Lira spoke. "I know a place far from here. A place we won't be found." He quirked his brow, and moved his head to one side. "For what?" Lira looked up. "For Mia—to hide her." "Hide her?" Caius swallowed the lump in his throat, seeking the lie in her words. Seeking her trick. He withdrew the heavy bladed dagger from the saddlebag. The blade shone milky black in the silver moonlight. "Or fulfill your holy oaths and sacrifice her?" Upon seeing the gleam of his blade, the swordswoman placed the child in the grass and rose to block his path. Her hand dropped to her sword hilt. "You think I plan to kill her, Caius? After all this time? Put your knife away." "She is magician born, don't you see? She bears the mark. She will immolate the world, or so the High Priest says!" He gestured with the blade towards Mia. "The church demands her sacrifice." "In the village, I asked the goddess what must be done. I heard nothing, save for the cooing of this babe. I’ll not kill a child based on one man’s whims." He wanted more than anything to believe her. He needed that belief, but years of doubt prevented it. "You speak sacrilege, Seeker." "You teach sacrilege, Most Devout." Had his teachings reached her? "If you wish to help me save this child, then throw your blade away." "You first," Lira said. She seemed sincere, and Caius had no delusions that he would be able to beat her if they came to blows. His only choice was to believe: in his friends, in his teachings, and in himself. He tossed the dagger aside. Lira drew her blade and held it. Blood thundered in Caius's temples as they stood for a few tense, silent moments. Then she tossed her sword, glittering, down the slope of the hill. His breath escaped in a rush as he hurried to Mia's side. "Oh, thank Terra! I was afraid you were going to kill me! Well, don't just stand there. Get the blades!" Lira stood for a moment, muttering to herself. Then she grinned, shook her head, and did as he bid while he knelt beside Mia and looked her over. The child slept, the ghost of a smile on her lips. A boot crunched into the earth beside him. "They will come looking for us." "Perhaps." He tucked the blanket around Mia's shoulders. "But after a thousand years of searching, and not one magician born, why should tomorrow be any different?" Lira knelt beside him in the grass, and bent, and kissed Mia's forehead. "What will happen with her?" "When the time comes, she will decide her own fate. Until then, we will keep her safe." "She will be cold tonight," Lira said. Caius nodded, though he didn't think so. Not Mia. "I will gather some wood, then conjure a fire to warm us." Lira was silent a moment, still looking down at the girl. Then sheepish, like a child making a request and fearing disappointment, "Will you teach me how, Most Devout?" Caius smiled. "I will teach you." |
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Matthew Cote
Matthew Cote is a writer and engineer living in the Northeastern United States. When he's not writing, or engineering, you can find him wandering the forests and hills of New England with his family, searching for the Second Conflagration.
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